This Is Arda!
by M.ara.gorn
Summary: Three cousins walk up a stream...and find themselves somewhere completely different. One of them, Anna, just so happens to love Lord of the Rings. And Kate...doesn't. Felix just likes swords. Will he kill someone important? Will Anna fall for someone besides Legolas (Answer: YES)? Will there still be 9 in the Fellowship? Find out NOW in This Is Arda! Rated T for violence only.
1. Wait, why are my ears pointy?

_April 12, 2017_

**(A/N: The partial Elf is kind of overused and cheesy, but it'll be a major plot point later, and you won't think so then.)**

"I can't believe this is our last free day in Glenbeigh," moans my cousin, Kate.

"It really is a shame," I reply pensively. "I wish our trips overlapped more."

My brother, Felix is already far ahead of us, blazing a path through the slippery, moss-covered rocks of the Behy, the stream from which the small town in southwest Kerry that we are visiting right now is named. Both our families come from Glenbeigh, and most of the other people in the town are related to us somehow.

I look ahead. I can't see Felix anymore. "Oy, Felix!" I call. I've picked up a lot of British slang from Harry Potter. "Stop! You're too far ahead!"

There's no response. Trading a look with my city-slicker cousin, I charge forward through the running water against the current.

I continue to call him as I run. I've been running for a surprising amount of time, probably around five minutes, when he finally replies.

"Anna, look at this," he says in awe.

"Where are you?" I call back.

"Over here," he replies. Helpful, not. I scan the horizon until I see him waving, a few hundred yards away.

"What is it?" I ask irritably. "We're way too far upstream. We have to go back."

"I don't think we can," he replies.

I cross over to where he stands. I look in the direction he's pointing, up and to the left. What I see shocks me. Braced against the side of a cliff, with waterfalls coming down on either side, is a large building with curved roofs and sweeping architecture. I recognize it instantly.

"Imladris," I whisper.

At the same time, I hear him say, "Rivendale."

"Rivendell," I correct automatically. Then, it hits me. "We're in Arda!" I shriek. "Oh, Kate's going to be thrilled." Our cousin thinks Lord of the Rings is stupid.

"Arda?" he asks. "What's Arda?"

"Middle-Earth," I say, waving off his question. "It's another name for Middle-Earth. Like Endor, except without the Ewok connotation."

"Wait, where is Kate?" asks Felix.

"She's coming," I assure him. "I ran. She walked."

"Oh, okay," he says. Sure enough, Kate comes plodding up the creek.

"Where the heck are we?" she asks, looking around critically.

I bite my lip. What do I tell her? "Um…you know how Felix and I really, really like Lord of the Rings?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "Duh."

"I have come to the expert conclusion that we are, in fact, in Arda," I reply.

"What's Arda?" she asks.

"It's Middle-Earth." Upon seeing her still-puzzled face, I add, "We're in Lord of the Rings."

"What? That's impossible," she screeches. She pulls her phone out of her pocket.

"No service?" I predict. I'm correct. "There are no cell towers in Middle-Earth," I explain.

"So what do we do, fearless Elf queen?" asks Kate.

"We go to Imladris," I reply calmly. They start to walk towards Rivendell. "Wait!" I yell. "Leave the talking to me," I implore. "I know the culture so much better than you do, plus I can speak a couple of words in Elvish."

I push my hair behind my ears. Felix gasps. So does Kate. "What?" I ask.

Kate points at my head. Felix gasps out, "Your ears…"

I run my hand through my hair, which I elaborately braided to look like an Elf, until my fingertips find the tip of my ear. I scream. My ears, always protuberant and slightly elongated, have grown a pointy tip. Like an Elf.

Kate's ears, clearly visible in front of her ponytail, are still rounded. I order Felix to push his hair back so we can see his ears. Evidently, mine are the only ones that have gone pointy. I feel my forehead. My slight acne is gone, too. I can tell that were I to look in a mirror, my skin would be as perfect as an Elf's as well. However, I'm still only five foot two, which is way off the low end of Elves' heights.

"I'm a-I'm an _Elf_," I say. "Why am I the only one that became an Elf when we came here?" No one knows. Suddenly, an idea occurs to me. "What if…well, as I said, I know a lot about Elves…I've read a lot about their culture…and I was thinking about them as I ran down the stream…"

No one answers me.

"Let's go to Rivendell," says Felix, breaking the awkward silence.

"Wait!" I call again. "They don't speak English here. We need to find out if we're speaking English or Westron."

"Why wouldn't we be speaking English?" asks Kate.

"If we came here by accident, we're probably speaking English. If we came here on purpose, we're probably speaking Westron."

"Westron?"

"The Common Tongue. So are we here by accident or not?"

"I dunno," replies Felix, shrugging. "How do we know?"

"We don't," I answer. "Let's find out."

We walk for about ten minutes until we reach a nearly sheer cliff face.

"What do we do now?" asks Kate.

"We climb it," Felix replies, beginning to climb it.

"We can't climb it," I say, "It's too steep." I scan the cliff face, looking for a way up. I see stairs leading to the top. "Look! Stairs."

We climb the stairs, most of which are cracked and broken by the years. Twice, we have to stop and plan a way up to the next visible step. Nevertheless, we make it to the top intact, and start walking toward the bridge.

"No railings," Felix is quick to point out.

"There never are," I agree. "I nearly had a heart attack when Arwen rode across it when we saw the movie," I add. "There are never rails on anything."

This is a reoccurring joke in our family: the railings, or lack thereof, in most movies.

We make it across the bridge, but when we step onto the other side, a small party of dark-haired Elves approaches us. Felix tenses.

"Relax," I say. "Remember? This happened in The Hobbit, too."

"Right," he mutters, relaxing.

Sure enough, in the lead I recognize Figwit. Sorry, _Lindir_. He was given a name in The Hobbit. I am still going to call him Figwit in my head, though.

He says something in Elvish that I can't understand.

"I need to speak to Lord Elrond," I say, praying that I'm speaking Westron.

"Why must you speak to him?" asks Figwit in that Elvish accent I love.

"I…" I trail off. How much should I tell him? "I can't say. Please let us speak to him. We need to."

Evidently, we are speaking Westron. That probably means someone brought us here on purpose. But who? And, more importantly, why?

"I do not believe that Lord Elrond will consent to speak to…you," says Figwit, his gaze travelling over all three of us. I am suddenly conscious of our 21st century clothing. We must look like lunatics, coming in here in ridiculous clothes and demanding to talk to Elrond without telling Figwit why. Plus the fact that I'm somewhere between an Elf and a human, which I still haven't figured out.

"Wait here," says Figwit, and he walks off.

By the time Figwit returns, the sun has sank lower in the sky, and the first stars are beginning to appear.

"Silwe," I mutter the Elvish word for "starlight."

"What was that?"asks Figwit. "Was that Elvish?"

I nod.

"You speak the tongue of the Eldar?" he asks.

"No, just a few words and phrases, _mellon nin_." Why I've just called Figwit my friend is beyond me. Possibly because that's one of the only phrases I know that could possibly add to this conversation.

He raises an eyebrow.

I try to raise one back, but eventually give up and settle on raising both of them.

He smiles so imperceptibly it makes the Mona Lisa's smile look gargantuan.

"Watermelon," I whisper to break the tension. Felix hears and grins.

"Lord Elrond will not speak with you, but invites you to remain in Imladris until you wish to leave," says Figwit, back to his usually formal air.

"Well, it's better than nothing."


	2. Hey, Elrond, I'm omnicient!

_April 13, 2017_

**(A/N: I don't talk about Felix's clothes because he wouldn't let me put him in the story if he had to wear Middle-Earth clothes.)**

I flop back onto one of the beds in the luxurious chamber we've been given. Actually, it's pretty sparse by elvish standards, but it's way better than what anyone but the Elves would give us.

"So," I begin. "That didn't go as planned."

"Well, at least we got to stay in Rivendell," Felix replies. "That's a big plus."

"Right, but we still need to talk to Elrond."

"Why do we have to talk to Elrond anyway?" asks Kate.

I roll my eyes. "Well, to start with, we're a trio of teenagers who just randomly showed up in Middle-Earth. I've partially transformed into an Elf, but you two are still human.

"The fact that we're speaking Westron right now implies that someone brought us here on purpose, and we don't know who. For all we know it could be bloody Sauron, trying to ruin the Quest. Or it could be Gandalf or Galadriel or one of those guys, and they want us to save the Quest.

"If Sauron or Saruman brought us here, doing anything will play right into their hands. If it's a good guy that brought us here, we're ruining their plans by not doing anything. All we know is that we're in Rivendell.

"We don't know what time of year it is, what's going on with Frodo, we don't even know if Frodo's left the Shire yet! The only person less than multiple weeks away who can possibly help us is Elrond, and he refuses to see us. That, dear cousin, is why we have to talk to Elrond!" I burst out, seething.

"Now that you've exploded, what are we going to do about it?" asks Felix.

I glare at him. "We're going to talk to Elrond one way or another. I'm going to go now and have a look around. If I can, I'll talk to him. I think he should know that I know what's going to-"

I break off as someone knocks on our door. Felix gets up and opens it, then stumbles backwards to allow her to walk in.

It's an elleth, carrying a pile of fabric. As she unfolds it, I see that it's new clothes for all of us. The kind of clothes that won't stand out.

She says something that I can't understand in Elvish, then passes out the clothes. From what I can tell, the Elves guessed our sizes pretty well. Kate's and my dresses are a plain dark green in a style I recognize from the movies, except more elaborate, and clearly of Elvish make. I guess there isn't really a lot of variation in styles here. Not that I care. After putting on my new dress, I sneak out of our room. There aren't many Elves in this part of the house, and none are going in any particular direction, so I head left.

After walking for a few minutes, I come out into a sort of atrium, where I can see more regal-looking Elves congregated. I look around, and spot who I was looking for.

I walk up to Figwit. "Good day, sir."

He looks at me. "What are you doing out here, my lady?" he asks.

"I was wondering what day it is," I reply.

"It is the twelfth day of _firith_, the season of Fading," says Figwit. "In the Common Calendar, it is the first day of Narbeleth, or October." I remember that Glorfindel leaves Rivendell on my birthday, October 9. So I have eight days until he leaves, which means probably five or six until Frodo gets attacked on Weathertop. I have to talk to Elrond, fast.

"Thank you, my lord," I say, before running off.

I've barely gone a yard when I crash into someone. So much for my brilliant plan of trying to blend in with the Elves. I fall backward onto the floor, and gasp as I look up. I've walked into Elrond in the most literal of senses.

I scramble to my feet, not the easiest of tasks in my long dress and weird elvish slippers. Curtsying, I try to regain some status in his eyes. "My lord Elrond," I say.

"Who are you?" he asks.

I pause for a moment. Should I reveal that I am not, in fact, an Elf? I decide not to. "I Duriel Eruanna," I say. Duriel means "dark maiden." Eruanna is a literal of my first name. I picked it out for myself years ago, when I was fourteen and just getting into Lord of the Rings.

"Duriel," says Elrond pensively. "An unusual name."

"Thank you," I reply cautiously. "I am staying here with…" I am at a loss. They are my brother and cousin, but revealing that I am an Elf with humans so closely related to me would draw too much attention to me. "I am visiting Imladris," I begin again. "I come because I must speak with you, my lord. It is a matter of utmost importance."

Elrond raises an eyebrow, another Elvish trait that I didn't pick up in the process of turning partially into one. It's really starting to annoy me that I can't do it.

"Come with me," he relents, walking back in the direction he came from.

Elrond leads me to a room I recognize instantly as the place where the Council of Elrond took place. "Sit down," he says, pulling up two chairs and sitting in one.

I sit.

"You are not an Elf." It's a statement, not a question. I nod. "What are you?" he asks. "Start with where you come from, as you are clearly not from Arda."

"I am from another world, Earth. It is possible that my world is in fact yours in the seventh age." I break off as he raises an eyebrow again.

"Continue," he says.

"My brother, cousin and I were walking in a stream in our…village. We found ourselves in a stream in Arda, not far from Imladris. We are all human, but I somehow turned partially into an Eldar during the process."

"You know a lot about us." Again, a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"You come from our future."

"I don't know. Some believe that we are in your future. Others believe that we are in completely different worlds. Most people don't know about you, and of those that do, few care. I care."

"You know our future?"

I bite my lip. "Yes."

"You want to know if you were brought here on purpose, and how."

"One out of two," I reply. "I know, or at least suspect, that our presence is not an accident. What we don't know is who brought us here, or why, or how."

"I do not know the answers to those questions," says Elrond. "Is that all?" He starts to get up.

"No!" I exclaim. "I wanted to tell you-I know about the Ring."

His reaction is all I could have hoped for. Elrond stops dead and sits back down. "Continue."

"I know about its existence. I know everything about it," I continue, not knowing how much he knows at this point. "And I know about your ring; and Mithrandir's and Galadriel's."

He stares at me. "You may have the gift of foresight. You may remain in Imladris for as long as you wish."

_Victory. Now, I just have eight days left to persuade Arwen…_


	3. Hey, Arwen, your boyfriend might die!

_April 13, 2017-October 1, 3018_

**(A/N: Aragorn's name in Rivendell is Estel, which translates to **_**hope**_**. You'll see once you read the chapter.)**

"Why do we have to change anything in the first place? Isn't there a happy ever after?" asks Kate. She makes a fair point, but it's one I've already considered.

"Too many of the Fellowship survive," chimes in Felix. "It's unrealistic. We have to make more die."

"Felix!" I scold. "That might have been good reasoning when they were just characters, but now, now they're real people. We can't make more people die just because you think it's unrealistic. In fact, I think we need to try to save Boromir. But that's not until later.

"As it is right now, Glorfindel is going to ride out of Rivendell in eight days. In the movie, Arwen does that instead of him, and the plot still works. I haven't met Arwen, but I think she needs to have a bigger role, because so many people dislike her. I'm going to try to persuade Arwen to save Frodo, then see what happens after that."

"Okay," says Kate. "That was an interesting speech."

"Do you agree with me?" I ask.

"Why not?" says Kate, shrugging. "Can't hurt."

"How are you going to do it?" asks Felix.

"I'm going to appeal to her weak spot," I say.

"What's that?"

"Hope."

_April 14, 2017-October 3, 3018_

I don't know where to find Arwen, so I decide to start by poking around where I probably shouldn't.

I leave our room and immediately bump into my favorite person in Rivendell, Figwit.

"Hey, Lindir!"

"Lady…Amónduin, is it?" he asks.

"You can call me Duriel," I reply. "Or Anna, either works."

"Lady Duriel, then."

"Anyway, watermelon, have you seen Arwen?" I ask.

"I cannot say I have seen the Lady Undomíel," replies Figwit in the tone of someone who is undergoing a great deal of agony.

"Well, do you know where she might be?"

"The location of the Lady Undomíel is no concern of yours," he bites out. "You would do well to keep out of the business of the High Elves of Imladris."

I don't know why I antagonize Figwit so much. With all the other Elves, I'm careful to be calm, mature, and _Elf-like_. With Figwit, I'm careful to be overly casual and impertinent. Basically, the exact opposite of how I behave for Elrond.

"Does that mean I shouldn't talk to you anymore, watermelon mine?"

"Yes."

"M'kay, bye, lovely watermelon."

I skip off, and then promptly crash into Elrond again. Why, _why_ does Elrond always see me coming away from a meeting with Figwit? I try to make a good impression for him, but it's always ruined by the skipping, or the running, or the watermelon-ing.

"My lord Elrond," I say by way of greeting. I decide not to mention that I need to talk to Arwen. He nods in return.

I walk calmly off in the other direction, then, when Elrond is out of sight, I double back to follow him. As of now, I don't know where in Rivendell he lives. That's probably where Arwen lives, too.

I follow him through Rivendell, avoiding Elves I've met before. Fortunately, Figwit doesn't show up. He would probably ruin everything if I saw him. Finally, Elrond stops.

I duck behind an enormous potted plant, for once thankful for the Elves' obsession with putting flowers everywhere.

Looking around the bunch of blossoms, I see another Elf come out of a doorway to my right. I'm in luck-it's Arwen. I watch as she and her father exchange words in Sindarin, then pass each other, with Elrond going in to doorway she just left. I wait for her to walk down the corridor a ways, and then come out from behind the potted plant.

I come up behind her. I think I'm being quiet, but she turns around when I'm still a few steps away.

I gasp, and then recover. "Lady Undomíel. I must speak with you."

Arwen looks guarded. "On what matter must you speak with me?"

I decide to throw caution to the wind, saying, "On the matter of Estel, the _Dúnedain_."

Her eyes widen in surprise as I press on. "Lord Aragorn is being pursued by Nazgûl. They will soon catch up to him."

"How do you know of this?" she asks in alarm.

I decide not to tell her, instead replying, "I have foreseen it."

"And my father, does he know?" asks Arwen.

I don't want to lie, but if I tell her the full truth as I know it, Elrond will send out Glorfindel. I need to persuade Arwen to go instead of him. "I have not told him all that I know," I say instead.

"Surely you must tell him, rather than me," says Arwen.

"Were I to do that, milady, he would not send the right person. I have seen that you are the one who must go." It doesn't really make a difference that Arwen goes, rather than Glorfindel, but I think Arwen deserves a chance to prove that she is more than just Aragorn's girlfriend.

She nods curtly. "Thank you for telling me this…" she pauses.

"Duriel," I tell her, not wanting to advertise that I am not fully an Elf.

She smiles. "Thank you, Duriel. I will bear what you have said in mind."

I curtsy, and she leaves. "La-de-da!" I trill as Figwit passes me. He shoots me a glare that says clearly, "Are you insane?" I smile beatifically at him, which melts into a real smile at the death glare he gives me back. "Hey, watermelon," I call as I leave him. I don't turn to see what his reaction is.

"So I'm almost positive Arwen's going," I tell the others back in our room that night. "She didn't say whether she was or not, but she definitely took note of what I said, particularly when I mentioned Aragorn." When they don't respond, I ask, "What have you guys been doing while I've been off changing canon?"

"I've been practicing swordplay," says Felix. I look up in surprise. "What?" he asks, annoyed.

"I'm just surprised that they let a fifteen-year-old human boy near swords."

The look he gives me is quite familiar, both from him and from Figwit.

Kate neglects to respond to my query, instead falling back on her bed, and saying, "Quiet, okay? I'm going to try to sleep."

"Well, why aren't you surprised that they let a seventeen-year-old girl talk to Elrond?" Felix whispers defiantly.

"I think in this world, seventeen is an adult, at least for Men. Anyway, I've persuaded Elrond that I can see the future, plus I know about the Rings. There's no way he's going to ignore someone as dangerous as me."

"You? Dangerous?"

"I may not be able to wield a sword like you can, but words are even more dangerous than your weapons."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm right, Felix. Leave it." I yawn. "I think I'm going to go the same way as Kate did just now. Good night."

"Night," says Felix as I turn over.

That night, I can't sleep. Whenever I try, I wake up from dreams full of death and destruction, mostly wreaked because I've meddled with the story.

In one, I'm watching as Arwen weeps over Aragorn's lifeless body. In another, I watch as Frodo gives in to the power of the Ring long before he reaches Mount Doom and Sauron takes over in the way he wants to. In one, Saruman throws Gandalf off the top of Isengard. Éowyn is killed by the Witch-King. Aragorn doesn't heal Faramir and Éowyn in time.

In all of them, the bloody changes are a direct result of my trying to change the plot of the story.

I wake up in cold sweat from the most recent one, involving Boromir succeeding in taking the Ring from Frodo. If these dreams were meant to scare me away from trying to change the story, they've certainly succeeded. I don't want to change anything anymore. But I've already made at least three irrevocable changes. Number one, we came here in the first place. Number two, we've revealed our foreknowledge to Elrond. Number three, I've told Arwen to get involved in the Quest.


	4. Arwen Undomiel, horse thief?

_April 20, 2017-October 9, 3018_

I wake up the next morning tired, but cheerful, having nearly forgotten what I dreamed last night. I pause for a moment, as I always do, to sort out the date both at home and here in Middle-Earth. I realize with a pang that we've been gone for nine days now. Everyone must be worried sick about us. It's not like it was our fault, but I still feel guilty for just vanishing like that. Especially now that the sense of adventure is leaving, making me so homesick.

Adding to the sense of gloom hanging over me is the realization that it's October 9th here in Arda. Today is the day Arwen has to leave Rivendell, meaning that if I haven't convinced her enough to go save Frodo, it will be too late.

My mood brightens a split second later as I realize that it's also my eighteenth birthday. Seventeen might be an adult for a human here, but I've still felt young. Now I'm an adult in the modern-day sense as well as the medieval one.

I leap out of bed, elated. "Guys! Guess what? I'm eighteen today!"

Kate rolls over and grumbles, "Good for you. Good night."

I bounce down onto her bed. "Wake up, Kate! The sun is up! Time to go!"

Felix sits up, rubbing his eyes. "What's the big deal?"

"Today is October 9th!" I yell. "It's my eighteenth birthday!"

Felix rolls his eyes.

"Plus today is the day we have to make Arwen go save Frodo! I'm going to go do that now!" Nothing can bring down my thrilled mood, not even the fact that Frodo will die if I don't persuade Arwen. Well, that might depress me a bit. Or a lot. But unless that happens, I'll be Little Miss Sunshine.

I quickly slip into my dress and awkward slippers and run out of our room.

I walk into atrium. Guess who the first person I bump into is? You got it-Figwit.

"Lindir! Guess what?" I practically jump at him.

He rolls his eyes in that long-suffering way of his. "What?" he asks, obligingly.

"It's my birthday, watermelon!"

"Congratulations," he says. "How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen!" I shriek.

"So you still have thirty-two left until you are an adult."

"Well, I'm not an Elf, am I, watermelon? Humans are adults at eighteen. Ergo, I am an adult."

"Still, you are a child compared to the Eldar," he retorts.

"All humans are," I reply. "Aren't they, watermelon? Arwen's almost three thousand years older than Aragorn, right?"

Clearly, he's used to my knowing everything that I shouldn't. "That is correct, Lady Duriel."

"Haven't I told you not to call me Lady a million times? Just Duriel, or Anna, watermelon. Mel-lons don't use titles, _Lin-dír_.

"Who says we are friends, Duriel?" He raises an eyebrow. I don't even try to raise one back, instead adopting an overly hurt look.

"Ah, watermelon, you've broken my heart," I sob dramatically.

He looks concerned.

"Heh, gotcha!" I crow triumphantly. "I like you, you tolerate me. Ergo, we are watermelons."

I think I catch him muttering, "Just barely tolerate you."

"What was that?" I ask.

"Nothing, mellon."

It's not an admission that he doesn't hate me, but it's progress. I'm so proud of him, and I tell him so.

He blushes, and scurries off.

I walk away too, calling back at him, "See ya, watermelon!"

Finding Arwen isn't as easy as finding Figwit, unfortunately. Unlike her father, I don't run into her immediately after leaving Figwit all the time. I'm sure I look ridiculous, scrunching up my face in concentration, trying to remember where in Rivendell she's shown in the books and movies. I come up with nothing. I decide to go back to the doorway I saw her coming out of a week ago.

Walking up to it, I peer down the hallway it leads to. It's decorated much like the rest of Rivendell, except more fancy, if that's possible.

Clearly, down here is where Elrond lives. And, most likely, Arwen too. Praying to God and the Valar—one from my world, one from this world, just to cover everything—that Elrond won't see me, I start to creep down the hall, peering in all the open doorways I come across. Elrond doesn't see me, and neither does Figwit, thank God, or the Valar, or whoever is in charge here. In one of the last doorways in the corridor I see Arwen. Score!

I walk into the room without thinking. She turns in surprise. "Lady Duriel," she says, acknowledging my presence.

"Arwen," I begin, to blazes with formality. "Have you considered what I told you about Aragorn?"

She is taken aback by my informality, but replies, "Yes, indeed I have."

"And?" I prompt. I'm expecting to her to need further persuasion.

I'm pleasantly surprised as she squares her shoulders and says, "I'm going."

I smile broadly. "Great! You need to leave today."

Startled, she asks, "When do I leave?"

I wince. I don't actually know the answer to that question. I tell her so. "I don't actually know. But…your father has probably found out himself by now. And in…my vision…he sends Glorfindel. But I've also seen that you're the one that has to go," I add quickly. "We can just wait until Glorfindel is about to leave, and then you can go really fast before he does."

"How do we do this?"

Fifteen minutes later, I can't believe what we're doing. Arwen and I are crouched in an empty stall of the horse stable, waiting for Glorfindel to arrive.

"This," she says, echoing my thoughts, "is crazy. You know that?"

"I do know that," I reply. "That's why we're doing it. I still can't believe that I got an Elven princess to hide in a stable with me."

"And I still can't believe the Elven princess let herself be persuaded."

I giggle, but then turn serious. "All for Aragorn, right?" I ask.

"Right."

"Shh, someone's coming."

We peer over the top of the stall door. It's him. We watch as Glorfindel prepares his horse to go. He checks that he has everything, then peers out into the hall and walks out of the stable a few steps. "Go, go, go!" We leap out of the stall, and I hand Arwen up her bag as she mounts the horse Glorfindel has so kindly vacated.

Glorfindel, hearing us, rushes back in to find Arwen on his horse, and me running out, passing him in the doorway. Arwen gallops out of the stable into the courtyard, then across the Heart Attack Bridge of Doom.

"They're by the stone trolls!" I yell out, hoping that she heard me, and that it will help her find them.

I make it back to our room running flat out clear across Rivendell. When I arrive, no one is in there, so I lie back on my bed and sigh loudly.

"Go Arwen," I say under my breath. "You did it."

A knock sounds on the door, and I stifle a shriek, leaping up and going over to open it. Guess who it is?

"You are to come with me to see Lord Elrond," says Figwit, the humor gone from his face. Clearly Elrond has found out about the part I played in Arwen stealing Glorfindel's horse and escaping Rivendell.

I don't bother struggling or arguing as Figwit leads me out of my room, taking me to the Council chamber.

When we get there, there's a small circle of high ranking Elves: Figwit, of course, Glorfindel, Elrond, and others, plus Felix and Kate, all waiting for me. And none of them look happy.


	5. Dost thou hate me, lovely watermelon?

_April 20, 2017-October 9, 3018_

**(A/N: Slight Me/Figwit if you squint, but that's not where it's going.)**

"Lady Duriel," begins Elrond sternly. "Glorfindel reports that you were helping my daughter steal his horse and leave Imladris."

That's true, but of course it sounds bad when he puts it that way! "Yes, I was," I reply, squaring my shoulders and standing straighter.

"Why did you aid Lady Undomíel in leaving?"

"In one of my…visions…I saw Glorfindel going. I also foresaw that Arwen needed to go instead."

"Why did my daughter have to go in Glorfindel's stead?"

"May I mention…what we were discussing when last we met?" I ask, not knowing if Glorfindel and Figwit know about the Ring.

"You may, thank you for asking."

"You're welcome," I reply. "Do you know why Glorfindel was leaving?"

Elrond bristles. "Of course I knew why he was leaving."

"To save Frodo?"

"Yes."

"Right. The bearer of the Ring has been stabbed by a Nazgûl blade. You were presumably sending Glorfindel to bring the Ringbearer back to Imladris?"

"That is correct."

"Well, I saw that Arwen would do it faster." That is true. In the book it takes much longer for Glorfindel to reach them then it does Arwen in the movies.

"And you did not consult me."

"I was afraid that, should you hear of my plan, you would refuse to let Arwen go. As it is, you're mad at me, so I presume I was right?" I finish in a question.

He sighs and rubs his forehead. "Duriel, for the foreseeable future, I shall assign Lindir keep a watchful eye on you."

I fight to keep a grin back as a look of horror crosses Figwit's face.

"As you wish, my lord."

Figwit escorts me out of the Council chamber (does anyone else see the Star Wars joke in here?) to my room to collect my meager possessions. Apparently, Elrond doesn't trust me behind closed doors so far away from his watchful eye. I've been assigned new chambers closer to my "guard's."

"Watermelon?" I ask, trying to get his attention.

"What?" he snaps back out at me.

"I don't hate you," I reply. Clearly, to Figwit, this is a monumental admission.

"That remains to be seen," he replies, less than impressed.

"I'm serious."

I scoop everything I own into the little cloth bag Elrond lent me. Figwit watches in the doorway to make sure I don't…I don't actually know what he thinks I could possibly do.

I tell him so. "I don't know what you think I could even do, Lindir."

"There are many things a partial elleth could do while collecting trinkets."

"Name one."

I've stumped Figwit.

"Tell me why exactly Elrond made you guard me?"

"Because he thought it was best."

"Well, you are my closest watermelon in Imladris, besides Arwen, who is the reason Elrond's so mad at me."

"Speaking of the lady Undomíel, I do not think Lord Elrond will allow you near her again. I believe he finds you to be…a bad influence on her."

"She's what, three thousand? She should know better than to listen to an eighteen-year-old. It's Arwen's fault, and Elrond should know that."

"Do you honestly believe that Lady Undomíel would steal Lord Glorfindel's horse, had you not persuaded her to?"

"I truly believed-and still do-that she's better for the job than Glorfindel."

"Again, this miraculous foresight that you seem to possess. How does it even work?"

I hesitate. "Can I trust you, _mellon nin_?"

He seems to take to heart the fact that I call him mellon, rather than watermelon. "You may."

"I'm serious. You can't tell anyone this. Even Elrond."

He is the one to hesitate this time. "I will not."

"I don't have the gift of foresight. All I know, I know from…" I trail off, then begin again. "As Elrond knows, I am possibly from your future, four ages in the future. Some believe us to be in the seventh age. In my world, this is…a fictional story."

"Passed through the ages through song?"

"No. People don't tell stories in song anymore where I come from. We write them down onto…parchment, then bind them together into books."

"We have books in Arda."

"Okay, then, your story is written in a book in our world. And then it was turned into…" I pause. How the heck am I going to explain the concept of a movie to an Elf? "Do you have plays in Arda?"

"No."

"They are where actors pretend to be fictional or historical characters. Your story was turned from a book into a form of a play."

"Is our story famous?"

"Moderately. Nearly everyone has heard of it, but very few are interested in it. Most of the interested ones are very interested."

"Do you know more of our world than the tale you refer to now?"

"Yes. Your creation story and the tales of the First Age were also recorded into a book. It's called the Silmarillion, after the Silmarils of Fëanor. But that isn't the only story in the book."

"Was this also recorded as a play?"

"No, though many people, such as myself, believe it should be. Remember, _mellon_, I am entrusting you with this. It doesn't leave this room, not even in the presence of Elrond."

"I remember…_watermelon_." He whispers the last part, so that I can barely catch it, then smirks at me. Three cheers for my new and improved Elfish hearing!

We leave with me grinning widely. Figwit doesn't hate me! I was afraid I'd totally ruined his opinion of me with the stupid watermelon stuff. I'm glad I hadn't.

Figwit leads me to my new chambers, much closer to his and Elrond's watchful eyes. Figwit may have a new respect for me, but Elrond is still furious and distrustful. All I really did was help his daughter "borrow" his second-in-command's horse. I think the horse actually had a back story as well, but I can't remember it. So maybe my actions were worse than I thought. Oh, well, too late now.

"Lindir?" I ask as we walk.

"What?"

"When do you think Elrond's going to stop being mad at me?"

"If and when the lady Undomíel gets back safely," he replies.

"When."

"Pardon?"

"She will get back safely."

"You read this?"

"No, I watched it. The book and the play are different."

"Didn't the book come first?"

"Yes."

"Then why are the events playing out like in the play?"

"Because sometimes…the play means fewer people die." _And sometimes, it means more do. Sorry, Haldir. If you come to Helm's Deep, I will keep you from dying,_ I vow silently.

"Duriel?" comes Figwit's concerned voice, startling me out of my dark thoughts.

"Nothing, watermelon."

_April 21, 2017-October 10, 3018_

I finally manage to reconvene with Felix and Kate the next day.

"I told Figwit," I announce upon striding into their room. Figwit's allowed me to talk privately with them.

"Told him what?" asks Kate, looking up from her phone.

"Told him that I know what's going to happen."

"I thought you already told Elrond that?" chimes in Felix.

"I didn't tell Elrond about Lord of the Rings. Elrond thinks I have foresight. I told Figwit the truth."

"Why did you do that?" yells Felix, jumping up from his bed. "I thought we agreed what to do!"

"I thought…" I fumble for the words. "I thought we needed to have someone who knew the truth. I trust Figwit more than anyone else in Rivendell."

"We don't even know him," yells Felix.

"I do, though. Is there anyone in Rivendell you trust enough to tell?"

"Well…no, but-no." Felix falters.

"I thought not."

"What, are you going to tell all of Rivendell next?"

"No! Of course not! I won't even tell Arwen!" I shriek, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I _hate_ the fact that I'm totally stoic through books and movies, but cry so easily in real life.

I run out of their room, crashing into Figwit on my way out. He catches me before I can fall, and says, "Are you all right?"

I sob, "Why is everyone here mad at me?"


	6. Wow, Frodo looks terrible!

**(A/N: Ha, ha, short chapter!)**

_May 1, 2017-October 20, 3018_

I pace the floor of my room, shooting anxious glances at Figwit every few seconds. He's here guarding me, plus he's the only one who knows why I'm so tightly wound today.

"Duriel, calm yourself. I am sure that the lady Undomíel will arrive today, as you have predicted," he says, trying to reassure me.

"What if I made a mistake, watermelon? What if Glorfindel should have gone? What if this is supposed to play out as in the book and the…play made illogical changes? What if-"

"It will be all right, mellon," he replies calmly.

"That's easy for you to say! You didn't possibly start a chain of events that would lead in the Dark Lord rising again!"

"Listen to me, Duriel," he says, stopping me midstep and placing his hands on my shoulders. "Lord Elrond instructed me not to tell you, but he has sent riders to catch up to Undomíel. If she's in trouble, they will save her."

"And Frodo? What if it's too late to save Frodo?"

"Undomíel has moderate healing powers. She alone cannot cure him, but she can keep him stable until they reach Imladris."

"Lindir-" I break off, feeling a lump in my throat. "I don't want to be responsible for ruining everything."

"Arwen!" I scream as she comes galloping across the Heart Attack Bridge of Doom. "Oh, thank God," I whisper as I see Frodo lying on her horse in front of her. "Watermelon!" I yell, running across the courtyard to Figwit. "Tell Elrond that Arwen's back!"

As Figwit leaves to summon Elrond, I tear back towards where Arwen is, stopped now, lifting Frodo out of the saddle.

"Oh, Valar," I whisper in horror as I see Frodo's face. The movie does _not_ do justice to how horrifying he looks. "Arwen, is he—"

"He's alive," she replies. "But my father has to see to him immediately."

"Lindir is getting him."

_May 2, 2017-October 21, 3018_

I'm sitting at Frodo's bedside the following day when Arwen comes in.

"Arwen!" I stand up immediately and greet her.

She comes over and embraces me. "Thank you for telling me, Duriel. I do doubt Glorfindel would have gotten there in time, especially without knowing where to look."

"It was my pleasure, milady."

"Just Arwen."

"It was my pleasure, Arwen."

She smiles tiredly as I ask, "What happened?"

"Estel will have to tell you the full story when he arrives, but shall recount the tale as I know it.

"I left Imladris on Glorfindel's horse, as you know. I heard you shout to search around the stone trolls, so I first rode in that direction. I saw not Estel, nor the hobbits, for two days of searching. I decided to go back to the trolls. On my way there, I found Estel picking _athelas_, an herb that promotes healing. He told me that Frodo was suffering greatly, so I rode to the trolls.

"There I found him in a wretched state, already beginning the terrible transformation. I called him back to the light with words of healing, but he remained in delicate state. Estel treated his wound with _athelas_, but to no avail. I lifted him onto my horse and we rode through the night, pursued by five Nazgûl.

"They were loathe to let Frodo out of their clutches, so much so that they crossed the Bruinen to claim him. I appealed to Ulmo, the lord of water to cause the water of the Bruinen to surge forth and disintegrate the Ringwraiths pursuing us.

"It was at that point that Frodo began to slip away again, and I knew that no words of healing from my lips could save him. I rode as fast as I could to Imladris for my father to treat," she finishes.

"You got here just in time," I reply.

"It appears I did," she says, her face breaking into a smile.

Just then, Figwit walks quietly into the room. "Lady Undomíel?" he asks.

"I am listening, Lindir."

"Lord Aragorn has returned to Imladris with the three Halflings: Samwise, Peregrin, and Meriadoc."

Arwen and I leap up in unison. Remembering just in time that she might possibly want to see Aragorn more than I do, I quickly sit back down. My sudden movements do not go unnoticed by Figwit, who smirks at me.

Arwen rushes out of the room, and Figwit comes to sit down beside me.

"How is Frodo?" he asks.

"No worse," I reply. "I don't know. Arwen didn't tell me."

I want so badly to talk to Aragorn and ask him what happened, but I know he deserves some time alone with Arwen. "How are Aragorn and the hobbits?" I honestly don't remember from the book if they are all okay, and this is starting to play out more like the movie.

"They are fine. Frodo was the only one injured in the attack, and Lord Aragorn escorted the other Halflings safely to Imladris."

"They don't like to be called Halflings," I say quietly.

"What should I call them, then?"

"They prefer to be called hobbits. They think that we are twice as tall as we should be."

"Very well, hobbits," Figwit replies. He lowers his voice. "Will Frodo wake up?"

"October 24th at ten in the morning," I reply, equally as quiet.

"Thank the Valar for our prophetess," he says, false mockingly. I wink at him.

"What would you do without me?"


	7. Let's all sneak out of Rivendell!

_May 4, 2017-October 24, 3018_

**(A/N: There isn't any fangirling of Aragorn in this chapter because there's too much on my mind for it. Later chapters may include fangirly thoughts, though I won't say anything out loud.)**

It isn't for two more days that I feel comfortable trying to find Aragorn. I spend most of the time with either Felix, Kate, or, surprisingly, Figwit. Now that I've dropped the tormenting thing, we've ended up pretty good friends. I still call him my watermelon, though. Nothing will make me stop calling him my watermelon.

The morning of the 24th of October hits me like a ton of bricks as I sit up in bed at four AM. I blink sleep out of my eyes, then scramble out of bed and get dressed.

As soon as a decent hour arrives, I speed-walk down the hall to Felix and Kate's room. I learned early on in my stay at Rivendell that Elves tend to frown on the running in the halls.

I knock on their door. "Who's there?" calls the sleepy voice of my brother.

"It's me, open up," I hiss. As soon as he lets me in, I start jumping on Kate's bed, trying to wake her up.

It works. "What the *bleep* are you doing?" she asks. "What time is it?"

"Tomorrow is the Council of Elrond," I inform her.

"So?"

"Get up, get dressed," I order them. "Meet us in my room in ten minutes."

"Us?" asks Felix.

"You two, me, Figwit," I reply.

"Why does the Elf have to be involved in this?"

"Because he knows our secret, and it's too late to complain, what's done is done," I add upon seeing his angry face.

Felix takes me aside. "Just to let you know," he says in a low voice. "Kate's going to be in a bad mood today. Her phone finally died last night."

"Really? It's been nearly a month. I'm surprised it held out this long."

"She's been conserving power. She's been running on 2% for nearly a week now."

I start to ask why she needs her phone at all, but I stop. I know why. It's a link to our world for the only one of us who doesn't know this one. "Okay," I agree. "I'll be nice to her."

"I heard that," yells Kate, who is just now starting to drag herself out of bed.

* * *

True to their word, Felix and a still half-asleep Kate come stumbling into my room, where Figwit and I have been sitting on my bed for ten minutes, waiting for them.

Kate raises one eyebrow at us. Even she can do it, this is really not fair.

I stand up. "Welcome, all, to the Council of Duriel…" I trail off as three pairs of eyes turn to me in ridicule.

"Ahem. I've called you guys here to discuss…stuff…and…uh…well, the Council of Elrond is tomorrow and…we have to…plan…things…" I'm losing my train of thought so I stop and sit back down on my bed between Kate and Figwit.

"What she means is, tomorrow is the Council of Elrond. Duriel has been invited to attend, and she wishes to consult with the three of us first," says Figwit.

Felix and Kate look over at me accusingly. "This is the first we've heard of this, Anna," says Felix. I note that he emphasizes my real human name, Anna.

"I only found out this morning," I reply defensively.

"And you told Figwit?"

"Lindir told me."

"When?" Felix persists.

"This morning."

"How early?"

"When I woke up. He is my guard."

"When did you wake up?"

"Does it matter?" I sigh.

"Only if you don't tell us."

"I'm partially an Elf. I don't need as much sleep as you do. I was up at four this morning, like I always am."

Felix and I sit there for a minute, glaring daggers at each other. Kate breaks the silence. "Come on, guys, cut it out. There's more important things here."

"Thank you, Kate," I reply, mollified. "I've been invited to the Council of Elrond. I suspect that he means to tell everyone that I know how it will end. If that happens, there is a strong possibility that he will ask me to join the Fellowship."

"As a Tenth Walker?"

"As the Ninth. Elrond will want to send Pippin back to the Shire, because he is too young. I suspect he will want me to take Pip's place.  
"If that happens, I want you three to come too."

"I cannot," replies Figwit. "Elrond will miss me immediately. Felix and Kate will not be missed for a few days, at least, especially if I act as though they are."

"Thank you, watermelon!" I crow, hugging him briefly.

"It is my pleasure."

"One very important thing to consider here is the fact that Pippin does in fact contribute quite a lot to the plot, including saving Faramir. That having been said, I think we need Pip to come."

"Does he have to?" asks Felix in annoyance. "You could just save Faramir."

"Yes, he does have to come. The whole reason Gandalf goes to Minas Tirith is that Sauron thinks Pip has the Ring-I think." I add frowning.

"Fine."

"So we need to think of a way to sneak Felix, Cait, and Pip out of Imladris—"

"Lady Duriel," calls an _extremely_ familiar voice from behind my locked door. My breath catches in my throat. _Aragorn_.

* * *

My paces quicken to match Aragorn's much longer strides as we walk through Rivendell. I don't know where we're going, but he does.

"What happened?" I ask the question that's been plaguing me since Arwen gave me such an incomplete recounting. I know what happened in the book and movie, but I'm sure my telling Arwen where to find them affected the plot.

"The entire story?"

"Of course."

"Have you an hour to listen?"

"Why not?" I shrug. "I've got nothing better to do." Actually, I still need to talk to Figwit about sneaking them out of Rivendell.

He leads me out of the main corridors to a little garden I haven't seen before. We sit.

Clearly, Arwen's told him about me, because he tells me everything. He begins, "The Halflings and I were camped on Weathertop for the night. Peregrin and Meriadoc, the younger two, decided to light a fire to make dinner. The light attracted Nazgûl: five of them. They caught the Halflings off their guard and forced them to flee to the top of Amon Súl.  
"There I fought the Nazgûl with sword and torch, but it was too late, for poor Frodo had already been stabbed by a Morgul blade while in the Realm of Shadows. He managed to remove the ring, but the damage was done: Frodo was slipping in to the Shadow permanently. I treated him with kingsfoil, but it was for naught.  
"Days later, we stopped for the night by the Stone Trolls. It was there that Frodo began to slip more fervently. Though it had not worked before, I attempted to treat him with the kingsfoil once again. Searching for kingsfoil away from camp, I was found by Lady Arwen, thanks to your advice.  
"Undomíel attempted to use her words of healing to cure Frodo, but that too failed. I bade her remain with the Halflings while I brought Frodo to Imladris, but she decided to go instead. There we parted. I presume she told you what happened after that?"

"Yes, she did," I reply. "She told you as well?"

"Yes, she did."

"What did you want me for anyway?" I ask.

"I completely forgot: Frodo has come to consciousness."

"Oh, great! Can we see him?"

"Of course. We shall go to see him now."

**DeLacus: Thank you so much for the review! I actually have the first 22 chapters written, but I'm not posting all at once. I'm thinking maybe one a day.**

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	8. He's mad at someone besides me, for once

_May 5, 2017-October 25, 3018_

**(A/N: My spellcheck doesn't think Legolas is a word. Bad spellcheck! Actually, it doesn't think spellcheck is a word either, so go figure.**

**This is where the plot starts following the book/movie. If you have not yet finished the books, well, you have been warned.)**

I haven't been sleeping much since I came to Arda, but the night before the council of Elrond I wake up before the sun rises. Unable to fall back asleep, because of, you know, the partial Elf thing, I decide to get up and wander Rivendell. I pull on the Elvish dress I was given. I've finally gotten used to lacing up the back myself, miracle of miracles. Let me just tell you, be glad that you have zippers. It's not fun the other way.

I leave my room and walk around Rivendell. I stop outside a part of a corridor that I know contain the shards of Narsil and listen. I hear voices.

"The shards of Narsil: still sharp." Then, a second later, "No more than a broken hilt." The loud clang of metal on stone. I quickly duck into another room as Boromir walks down the corridor.

I tiptoe out of the room and peer down the corridor. A similar clang sounds as Aragorn picks up the shaft of the sword, hefts it, then replaces it on its plinth.

I know what's coming next. I duck back out of sight, just in case, and strain my ears for the expected sound of Arwen's voice: "Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself."

Did she just say that Aragorn has Isildur's hair? I mean, it's true, their hair looks alike, but still.

"The same blood flows in my veins." Aragorn's reply. "The same weakness."

"Your time will come," replies Arwen. "You will face the same evil. And you will defeat it." She continues in Elvish. I have no idea what she's saying, but I can catch her meaning.

I sneak back down the corridor. I know what will happen next, but I don't know in which direction they will leave. The last thing I want is for them to find me here.

* * *

Figwit finds me in the corridors as the sun comes up. "Duriel," he greets me. It does not escape my notice that he has dropped the "lady" in front of my name somewhere over the past few days.

"Lindir," I respond.

"Lord Elrond has sent me to tell you: the Council of Elrond has begun to assemble. He wishes me to escort you to it."

We walk into the council, not even late, but the look Elrond gives me is the one that could proverbially kill.

He gestures for Figwit and me to take seats on the edge of the ring. I sit gracefully in the empty chair between Aragorn and Figwit.

"And so, we turn from eighteen to twenty," says Elrond. "Let the council begin."

I give a silent cheer, prompting a quick jab in the ribs from Figwit.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," begins Elrond, rather overdramatically in my opinion. But, let's face it, there isn't much Elrond does that isn't overdramatic. "You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor."

"Mordor," I repeat, rolling the r's like Elrond. Figwit shoots me a look.

"Middle-Earth stands on the brink of destruction." I start scanning the room for members of the future Fellowship.

Wow. I've always said that Aragorn is more attractive than Legolas, but _wow_. Yet another thing the movies did not do justice to.

"None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall," continues Mr. Doom. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." Mr. Doom looks over at Frodo. "Bring forth the Ring."

Frodo walks forward cautiously and places the ring in the center of a conveniently located stone. I shoot a covert look at Boromir as Frodo backs away. To my left, I see Aragorn do the same.

Boromir leans forward, enticed by the corrupting influence of the Ring. "So it is true," he whispers. I watch as he leans forward and stands up. Aragorn moves almost imperceptibly towards Boromir. "In dream," begins Boromir, embarking on his famous speech. "I thought the eastern skies grow dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying of dooms near at hand. It cried:

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_ In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_ Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_ That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

_ And the Halfling forth shall stand_"

He keeps looking back at the Ring as he speaks, moving slowly towards it. "Isildur's Bane is found," he repeats. He reaches for the Ring, and Figwit's steadying hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me from standing up and forcibly tearing him from it.

I don't need to. Elrond does what I would have, leaping up and yelling, "Boromir!" At the same time, Gandalf begins reciting the prophecy of the Ring in the language of Mordor.

Elrond's face through all of this is priceless. I would pay to see Elrond's face through this one more time. _Actually_, I think, _when I get back to Earth, I can see it as often as I want_. When Gandalf is finished, he chides, "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here, in Imladris."

"I do not ask your pardon, Elrond," replies Gandalf. I look between the two with interest. "For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The Ring is altogether evil." No one contests that opinion.

Except for one. Guess who? "But it is a gift," retorts Boromir. "A gift to the foes of Mordor." He gets back up, and Gandalf turns again to face him. "Why not use this ring?"

I could list a couple reasons why, but, mindful of Figwit's hand on my arm, I refrain from doing so.

"Long has my father, the steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay," he continues. _That's what you think, buddy_. "By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it," says Aragorn from my left. In the moment I had completely forgotten that he was even there. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" retorts Boromir.

I definitely do not remember this happening in the book. I do believe that this is going to play out like in the movie.

"This is no mere Ranger," says Legolas, standing up for the first time. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"How does Lord Boromir owe Lord Aragorn his allegiance," whispers Figwit from my right.

"Aragorn is the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor," I reply. Figwit is startled.

"Aragorn," says Boromir, clearly thrown off balance by this revelation. "This is Isildur's heir?" The way he says it, so condescendingly, enfuriates me.

A second later, Legolas repeats what I just said to Figwit.

"Gondor has no king," says Boromir. "Gondor needs no king." He continues to glare daggers at Aragorn as he sits back down. Aragorn meets his gaze coolly.

"Aragorn is right," says Gandalf definitively. "We cannot use it."

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	9. I do not forsee swords in my future

**(A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited. It means so much to me.**

**SilverMoonrise: Well, you've reviewed now, so that's what counts! :) I'm glad you like it, and I hope so too.**

**RedJohnSpark: Your favorite? Seriously? I'm glad you like it so much!**

**DeLacus: There's a lot more Figwit coming up. Thank you for being my first ever reviewer.)**

_May 5, 2017-October 25, 3018_

Elrond stands back up. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

Thank you, Captain Obvious. I roll my eyes. Across the circle, movement catches my attention: three pairs of eyes, lurking in some bushes. I stifle a giggle at the hobbits.

"Then what are you waiting for?" roars Gimli, getting up and swinging an axe at the Ring. Against all logic and laws of physics, the Ring remains intact. Gimli himself ricochets backward, his eyes open in shock.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess." says Elrond in his most dramatic voice of doom. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came!"

Only Figwit notices me silently mouthing the words along with Elrond. He shakes his head in amusement.

"What's so funny?" I whisper.

"You," he replies.

Elrond continues, "One of you must do this," in an even more dramatic voice of doom.

Silence meets my ears, broken by my Harry Potter quote. "Well, what are you waiting for? Someone, grab it!"

Boromir glares at both me and Elrond scathingly. "One does not simply walk into Mordor," he says loftily. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The great Eye is ever watchful.

"It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not without ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Well, that's true, even in the movie set. They literally filmed on a bomb range.

"Well, what about nine?" I interject. "Nine Walkers, to counter the Nine Riders."

"That would be ideal," says Elrond. "Who is to lead the Quest?"

Frodo stands up. "I will take it!" he says. "Though I do not know the way."

Gandalf looks sorrowful, but he too stands up and places a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins. So long as it is yours to bear."

Frodo's words seem to inspire the others, as Aragorn is the first to stand and say, "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." He walks over and kneels before Frodo. "You have my sword."

"Go, Aragorn!" I cheer. Everyone turns and looks at me. "Sorry," I reply meekly. Figwit smiles at me, and I smile back.

Legolas walks over to Frodo as well. "And you have my bow."

Gimli, clearly not wanting to come in second place to the Elf, growls, "And my axe."

Boromir no longer looks like he's about to snatch the ring. Instead, he, too, walks over to Frodo. "You carry the fates of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done.

Sam, who I had already noticed lurking in the bushes, leaps up over the garden wall and says, "Mr. Frodo's not goin' anywhere without me."

Elrond is less than impressed. "No indeed is it possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Hearing this, Merry and Pippin leap out from behind a pair of pillars. Seriously, how did Elrond not notice three hobbits sneaking around? "Hey!" shouts one of them. Merry, I think? "We're coming too!" They rush into the center of the circle. The look on Elrond's face is, again, completely priceless. I'm going to have to start recording these priceless moments to watch when I get home. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway," says the other one, who is definitely Pippin, the adorable one. "You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing."

"Well, that rules you out, Pip," retorts Merry. I snigger, like I always do when I see the movie.

"No. The fourth Halfling is too young," says Elrond. Pippin's face falls. "He must return to the Shire, if only to protect it from the evils of Sauron."

"But…" Merry and Pippin both start shouting at Elrond, but he remains adamant.

"Peregrin Took shall return to the Shire."

"At least let me stay until they leave," begs Pip.

Elrond relents. "Very well. You may remain until the Fellowship sets out. Lady Duriel, I believe you suggested the idea of Nine Walkers, to counter the Nine Riders?"

I'm startled by his sudden interest in me, but I curtsy. "Yes, milord."

"You would be an invaluable asset to the Quest were you to go, Duriel of Foresight. I hereby name you the ninth member of the Fellowship of the Ring." I walk over to stand next to Aragorn at the edge of the small group. "Here you stand: Frodo, son of Drogo and Ringbearer; Mithrandir, the Grey Wanderer; Aragorn, son of Arathorn; Gimli, son of Glóin; Boromir, son of Denethor; Legolas, son of Thranduil; Samwise Gamgee and Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire, and Duriel Amónduin, prophetess. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Pip. Pip. Pip!" I whisper-call outside Pippin and Merry's room until Merry comes to the door.

"Lady Duriel!" he exclaims in surprise.

"Hi, Merry," I reply kindly. "I'm here to talk to Pippin. Is he here?"

"Sure is," replies Merry. "Hey, Pip! The prophetess wants to talk to you!"

A second later, Pippin comes wandering up to the door. I swear, he is just the cutest thing I have ever seen. He'd probably kill me if I told him, though.

"Hey, Pippin," I say kindly.

"Yes?" asks Pip.

"I need to talk to you about the Quest," I say. His face instantly falls.

"Yeah…" he sounds so dejected I just want to reach out and hug him.

"You want to go, right?"

"Of course!"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

I stride into Pip and Merry's room. "Merry, you're going to want to hear this too. You're going to be involved."

"How?"

"We're going to sneak Pip out of Rivendell into the Fellowship."

Both of the Cute Hobbits gasp. "How?" asks Pippin.

Inwardly, I roll my eyes. "When Pip is supposed to leave for the Shire, he instead comes and follows us. But wait: you won't be coming alone. My friend Lindir will be helping Felix and Kate escape Rivendell and come on the Quest."

Pip and Merry exchange looks. "We're in."

_November 3, 3018 _

"It's easy, Duriel. All you have to do is grip the sword like this." I've been in sword training for days now, and I've yet to pick up on anything. I already have the grace and ease of movement part down, from my years of dance class, but I've never handled any weapon before. Unless you count my brother's bow, which I use occasionally in the summer. I'm not very good at it, anyway.

The sword instructor at Rivendell is getting impatient, I can tell. It doesn't help that my brother spends all of his time expertly hacking away at his target.

At least I'm not the worst. Kate, though stronger than me, doesn't have the slim advantage of having been obsessed with lightsaber duels as a kid. I can barely lift these heavy steel swords, but I know vaguely how to use it. She doesn't do weapons practice, though. Felix is training for a career as a Human warrior and I'm going with the Fellowship, so we both get training.

"That's enough," says the instructor, a sharp-featured elf named Faelon. He sighs. "Let's work on archery."

**Galadriel requests that you review. You're not seriously going to ignore the requests of the most powerful person on Middle-earth, are you?**


	10. You trust me with KNIVES?

**(Silver Moonrise: Thank you. I hope so too. Later chapters have even more archery chaos.**

**DeLacus: Yep, and some of the actors accidentally left the mostly safe area!)**

_November 3, T.A. 3018_

**(A/N: For a point of reference, the Council of Elrond is on October 25, but the Fellowship doesn't leave until December 25. Merry Christmas! You get to go die.**

**Faelon is very much inspired by my dance teacher, Mimi. Except with bows and arrows instead of pointe shoes.**

**For those (Veronica) who were missing the Figwit humor, this chapter sees Return of the Watermelon Jokes.)**

I walk over to the wall where there is a rack of weaponry. "Which one?" I ask.

"Let's see," replies Faelon. He looks at the array of bows, squints, then selects one. "Try this."

I didn't think it was possible for an Elf to be so…gruff. I take the bow from his outstretched hand and experimentally pull the string back and hold it up to my eye. "I think that's good," I reply tentatively.

"It's not your decision, but I agree. That's the right bow." He hands me a quiver full of arrows. I feel the steel point of one.

"It's sharp," I say in surprise.

"What did you expect?"

"It's just that…with all the arrows I've ever shot, the practice ones were dulled."

"Well, that's not how we do things here."

Okay, then. I take the arrow out of its quiver and nock it onto the string. Placing my forefinger above the arrow and the other two below, I pull the string back to my ear. I pray that I won't make a fool of myself in front of an Elvish archer. I've made a few bulls-eyes, but Legolas I am not.

After sighting my target for a few seconds, I release the string and let the arrow fly. I bring my bow down and close my eyes. When I hear the arrow thunk into the target, I open one with trepidation. It's not a bulls-eye, but at least it landed on the target. I've been known to miss it completely.

I do a little happy dance there on the spot. Faelon sighs. "We'll work on it."

_November 9, 3018_

I've been practicing my archery for nearly a week when I feel comfortable showing people my skills. On November 9th, one month from the day I persuaded Arwen to steal Glorfindel's horse and go save Frodo, I call Figwit into the archery range to watch me.

"Lindir!" I call, pushing my way through the Elves in the corridor separating us. "Come here."

"What is it, Duriel?" he asks concernedly.

"Can you come watch my archery, _mellon nin_?"

"I do not think…"

"Please, watermelon?" I implore. Hey, I might be reformed, but I can still break out the watermelon when I want Figwit to do something. It seems to have some sort of effect on him, though it may just be sympathy at my pathetic-ness. Somehow, though, I doubt it.

"Fine." Figwit allows himself to be steered along the corridors to the archery range. I've somehow in a month managed to basically memorize my way around Rivendell.

Walking into the archery range, I grab my bow from its spot on the wall. Pausing for a quick "Hey, Faelon! Lindir's going to watch me, OK," I stride purposefully over to the line on the floor.

Reaching into my quiver, I withdraw an arrow. "They're not practice tip," I inform Figwit.

"I was aware of that, Duriel," he replies, seemingly baffled by my ineptitude.

I nock the arrow and aim at the target. _Oh, dear Valar, please do not let me screw this up in front of Figwit,_ I pray.

I fire. The arrow sails through the air and…hits the target…at the very edge, barely even touching it.

I curse, loudly. Faelon looks like he's never seen an elleth behave like this before. Actually, he probably hasn't. Physically, I may be partially and Elf, but mentally, I'm still a 17-year old human.

"Why don't you try again, to hit the center?" asks Figwit.

"Oh, you did _not_ just say that," I say false menacingly. "You're on."

"Well, if I'm going to take your challenge, you have to take mine," I say.

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. Have I mentioned how much it annoys me that I can't do that?

"Yes. If I'm going to try to be an archery whiz you have to…" I take a minute to think here. What's the best dare to give to the high-and-mighty Figwit, assistant to Elrond himself. Suddenly, I grin evilly. "You have to sneak out of Imladris with Felix, Kate, and Pippin and come along with us."

A veil falls over his formerly mirthful eyes. "_Mellon_, I can't do that. I explained why I can't possibly leave Imladris with you or sneak along on the Quest. I'm really sorry," he adds quickly.

I sigh deeply. "Fine." My voice is flat, emotionless.

"Why don't you try to get a bulls-eye?"

"Fine."

_November 10, 3018_

The next day, when I go back to the archery range, my heart's not in it and Faelon can tell.

"You appear to be less than motivated today, Duriel," he observes.

"Yeah," I agree half-heartedly.

"From observing you this past week, I have concluded that while you can shoot a bow, it is not the right weapon for you. You lack the physical strength to draw back the string quickly enough, and your aim, while promising, cannot develop fast enough before you leave.

"I suggest you try these." He reaches over me to another spot on the wall rack. He pulls out three daggers. "This one," he says, holding out one that looks like a miniature sword, complete with a pommel and wrapped-leather handle. "Is a dagger. It is used primarily to stab-" he gives a demonstration on an unused archery target hanging on the wall behind us- "But the edges are very sharp, and it can also be used to cut if it is all you have."

He pulls out the second, a wicked-looking one, made of one piece of steel without a distinguishable handle. "This is a throwing knife. While it is possible to use it as a melee weapon, a sweaty or bloody hand can easily slip down the handle and cut itself on the blade." He grips it carefully, then turns and whips it at the target on the far wall. "I'll show you how to throw it correctly later."

Finally, a short dagger with a leather sheath. "This is a sheath knife," says Faelon. "It is a general knife that can be used to cut or stab. I would keep it close at hand, because this is often the kind that saves your life."

He returns the dagger and sheath knife to the shelves, then pulls out a second throwing knife for himself. "Now, I will teach you how to throw your knife."

"Is this hard?"

"Not particularly. First, we're going to work on holding it correctly. Take it in your hand like this-" he pauses to demonstrate. "Make sure that your thumb is in line with the center of the blade. Good! Now pinch it like this-between your thumb and your index finger." He stops to correct my grip.

Once Faelon is satisfied that I can hold a knife correctly, he moves on. "Now, let me show you the throw. Is your right hand dominant, or your left?"

"My right hand is dominant," I reply, feeling strangely formal.

"So stand with your legs apart, and your left foot in front. Point the knife at your target-not like that, silly girl, like this-and bring the knife straight back to your ear so that your elbow is pointing directly at the target. The center, Duriel, the center. That's not the center." He rolls his eyes, repoints my elbow and continues, "When you throw-not yet-extend your knife arm towards the target. Release the knife and point to where you want the knife to go. Also rock forward as you release the knife. Like that, exactly." He nods. "Perfect. You ready to try?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply dubiously. I line up the stance and release the knife. I don't hit the center, but by the third or fourth time, I'm consistently hitting at least close to it.

"Here you go," says Faelon at the end of our practice, handing the knives to me. "If you practice, you will be ready to go on this Quest."


	11. Watermeldiron and Teithagliriel

**_I finished writing the Fellowship of the Ring section of This Is Arda! To celebrate, I'm posting TWO CHAPTERS at once. Please R&R both._**

_November 11, 3018_

**(A/N: And Elf's name is comprised of three parts: first the "father-name," the name given to the Elf by the father, akin to the first names of Men; next the "mother-name," given not long after birth by the mother should she notice something unusual or foresee something special about the child. For the purposes of this story, a direct translation of my real name is my "mother-name."**

**The final name, the "Chosen-name," is chosen by the Elf himself as soon as they are old enough to delight in words. Usually, it is a modification of a name already in existence, but some Elves make up their own. I did that. The "Chosen-name" can also be given by another person if the Elf in question chooses to accept it. Hint, hint.**

**This author note has been paraphrased from Laws and Customs of the Eldar, as found in the book Morgoth's Ring (Volume X of the History of Middle-Earth)**

**Hugantic bonus points to anyone who can guess what Figwit's last name means. Hint: I used www . list of Elvish translations of English names. Anyone who figures it out gets a (virtual) Figwit action figure!****)**

"Hiya!" I scream my ferocious battle cry as I whip my knife into my target. I haven't quite mastered the subtle art yet, but I'm definitely getting better. I've hit the center perhaps twice in the past hour I've been practicing. Just my luck-this one hits at the very edge of the center circle. Deciding to quit while I'm ahead, I walk over to the target and remove my knife. I'm surprised by how far the blade has sunk it. Three cheers for my brand-new Elvish strength.

I walk back to the side of the room where my bag is hanging. Sliding my throwing knife back into the sheath, I scoop the other two off the floor and place all three into my bag.

After a quick, "Thanks, Faelon!" I leave the room and speed-walk down the hall to my room. After flinging the knives out of my bag onto my bed, I quickly strip out of my "rough wear" dress and pull on a much nicer one. It looks a bit like one the one Arwen wore, or should I say will wear, to Aragorn's coronation in Return of the King, except it's dark blue, my favorite color, it's simpler, and it has a _much_ higher neckline.

I shake my hair out of the side-braid I did it in for knife practice and tie it up like I always did back home: little braids on the side, and one half-braid in the back. I designed it to look like an Elf years ago, and I haven't redesigned it since.

My fingers fumble with the slim, hair colored ties the Elves gave me. After nearly two months, I'm still not used to using them. Finally, I manage to tie my hair up. I look in the cloudy mirror. They're good enough.

I pick up my bag-it's nearly empty, but it's a habit from home that I never really lost-and, slipping on my soft leather Elvish boots, walk out the door.

I haven't quite reached my destination when I stop suddenly. From down a side corridor, I hear familiar voices. They're speaking in Elvish, but I recognize them instantly as Arwen and Aragorn.

I carefully walk back and peer around the corner. To my surprise, Elrond is standing with them, and they appear to be having an argument. I walk past with the rest of the Elves moving in that direction.

Walking quickly past them, I catch a quick snatch of conversation, shouted in Westron by accident, by Aragorn. "You have no sway over either of our choices!"

When Elrond replies, in Elvish, I can't understand what he's saying, but his saddened, defeated tone tells it all.

I walk away as fast as I can.

"Mae g'ovannan," say, proud of the little bit of Elvish I know.

"That is not how that is used," says Figwit, approaching me. "It means more along the lines of 'welcome.' Were you to greet me with 'hello,' you would use 'a.'

"That's it? Just 'a?'"

"That is correct."

"A."

"Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn."

"What does that mean?"

"It is a formal way of saying hello."

"What is its literal translation?" I persist.

"It means, 'A star shines over the time of our meeting.'"

"Le hannon," I reply what I know to be 'thank you.'

"Agoreg vae," he says gently.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you did well."

"Le hannon. Can you teach me more Elvish?" I ask.

"Tolo ar nin." I hope that means that I should follow him, because he turns around, and I follow him.

He leads me to a part of Rivendell I've never had any reason to visit before: the library. I was intrigued by it of course, but I can neither read nor write Elvish, so I hadn't asked where it was.

"Let's start with some phrases you'll need before any others," he begins. "Ú-bedin edhellen means 'I don't speak Elvish."

I laugh, and he smiles. I try to say it. I don't mangle the pronunciation as badly as I feared. He helps me sound out the words individually, and then we move on to other phrases.

"Le hannon, mellon nin," I say when the sun sets and a librarian-elf comes over to light a pair of candles on our table. "Pedin edhellen."

He smirks. "Not yet you don't."

"What's your full name?" I ask as he gets up to leave, trying to keep him here.

"Lindir Beininwion," he replies, surprised.

"You don't have a chosen name?" I ask, equally as surprised, but for different reasons.

"No, I never selected one. Do you have a full name?"

"Yeah, I picked one out years ago, based on my real name. It's Duriel Eruanna Teithagliriel."

"You write poetry?"

"Songs, really. I haven't written one since I came here, though."

"Can you recite one for me?" he asks.

I pick one of the very oldest songs I ever wrote. As I finish with the closing line, "I always loved your smile," he applauds.

"The way your song flowed is very different from the flow of Elvish poetry," he observes.

"I know. Songs are structured differently where I come from. This is actually much closer to a ballad than most songs where I come from."

"This is a fairly common song here," he says before launching into a song I recognize from the books. He translates it into Westron for me, though. I've never heard the movie soundtrack, but I don't think any voice actor could possibly compare. Even in Westron, which sounds crude and coarse compared to the lilting flow of Sindarin, Figwit's voice is inhumanly and preternaturally beautiful.

"_O Star-queen Star-kindler,  
Glimmering white, sparkling like jewels  
the glory of the heavens slides down from the firmament.  
Having gazed afar at the distance  
from tree-tangled lands of Middle-earth  
on this side of the ocean, here, great ocean  
Fanuilos, I will sing to you  
On this side of the ocean, here, great ocean…_"

When he's finished, I have to admit that I have a lump in my throat. "That was beautiful," I say breathlessly.

"Le hannon."

"Is there an Elvish name that means 'friend?'"

"There is one, Meldiron, which means 'friend."

"Novaer, Watermeldiron."

"Na lû e-govaned vîn, Teithagliriel."


	12. Sunlight comes creeping in

_November 23, 3018_

**(A/N: The title is a reference to one of my favorite songs, **_**Wings**_**, by Birdy.**

**I've finished writing the FotR section of This Is Arda, so I'm on a bit of a hiatus, but I'll still update here.**

**Question replies:  
DragonOwl: She knows that Pip has a very important part to play in the story, so she thinks that he needs to go in order to play his part.**

**If you have a potentially spoilery question to ask, feel free to PM me!)**

"How do you say Thanksgiving in Elvish?" I ask.

"What is 'Thanksgiving?'" asks Figwit.

"It's a holiday we have back home where we celebrate…where we give thanks for all we have. It's similar to your Iavasor."

"And you wish to celebrate it here?"

"It would mean a lot to me," I say. "It's one of the most important holidays where I come from."

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow."

* * *

"Come on, guys!" I call outside Felix and Kate's door. "Lindir's going to help us decorate for Thanksgiving."

"Can I kill the turkey?" Felix calls back.

I roll my eyes. "We're not going to kill a turkey. Elves value life above all else. That's why they're pretty much vegetarians, in case you hadn't noticed."

"We can't have Thanksgiving without turkey," says Kate

I sigh. "I'll talk to Lindir."

Twenty minutes later, Figwit and I are walking through the woods near Rivendell. Felix refused to come if he couldn't kill wildfowl, and Kate refused to go into the woods in November. I can't really blame her. As a partial Elf, I can't really feel cold unless it's really biting, and it's not right now. Were I still human, I might not want to go either.

"What kind of decorations do you wish to have?" he asks.

"When we celebrate it back home, we usually have earthy decorations. A lot of colored leaves."

"Like these?" He picks up a handful of leaves from the floor. Most of them are brownish and falling apart, but I pick out the two that aren't. One is yellow, the other red. As I pull them out of his hand, our fingers brush. It's all I can do not to jerk my hand back. Truth be told, the last time I touched a boy who wasn't related to me was freshman year. I wasn't allowed to date until high school, so I made the mistake of dating the first boy I saw. I've never made that mistake again.

I pluck the leaves out of Figwit's hand, feigning nonchalance. "Yeah, these are perfect. See if you can get more like these."

I walk off a ways, and then reach down to the forest floor. I pick up a handful of leaves and pull out the good ones. I do this over and over again, until I have a couple handfuls, and I walk back to Figwit.

"How many do you have?"

He shows me his handful. He has about as many as I have, perhaps a few less. "Is this good?"

"We should get a few more. This is only enough to make a centerpiece."

We collect another handful of leaves each, and then reconvene.

"This is perfect, Watermeldiron," I say, winking at him as I say his name. He smiles.

"I dass carnen, Teithagliriel?" he asks.

"What does that mean?"

"It means 'are we done?'" he replies.

"Oh. Well, in that case, yes. We have enough leaves. Let's go."

We walk out of the woods and back to Rivendell with the leaves all stuffed into my bag. It's a bit awkward getting back up the stairs and across the Heart Attack Bridge of Doom, but we manage by passing the bag back and forth all the way into Rivendell.

As we are about to walk in to doors, I notice how dark it's gotten. "Do you know if dinner is over yet?"

He glances up at the sky. "Yes, I believe so."

"Will anyone be in our dining pavilion until dinner tomorrow?" I ask.

"Yes, I do believe so."

"Stang. Well, Watermeldiron, we're going to have to come in and decorate tomorrow."

"If you pardon my asking, how exactly are we going to decorate for Thanksgiving?"

"I think we're probably going to do a lot of the spreading of the leaves all over the place."

He raises an eyebrow.

_November 25, 3018_

The next morning, when I wake up, I look out my window at the autumn dawn. You don't know a beautiful sunrise until you live away from pollution for two months. The sunrises and sunsets here are so absolutely beautiful they take your breath away.

It's something I haven't done since I was nine, but to mark the holiday I pull on a dress colored like the leaves we picked yesterday. I've gotten good at lacing it up: it only takes me about five minutes to struggle into it. As soon as I'm dressed, I look out the window again to make sure that the sun hasn't risen yet.

It hasn't. I run out of my room, looking _extremely_ Elf-like, I'm sure, down the hall to Figwit's room.

"Wake up, Watermeldiron!" I call, pounding on his door.

He comes to it immediately. "What is the matter, Teithagliriel?"

"Have you seen this sunrise?" I ask.

"Of course, I have seen many such-" he breaks off. "No, let's go see it."

"Can we go out of Imladris?" I ask. "It would look so cool from the bridge." Without waiting for a reply, I say, "I'm going to get everyone else."

"Who is 'everyone'?" I hear him say as I run down the corridors to get Felix and Kate.

* * *

"Guys! Wake up!" I yell as I pound on Felix and Kate's door. "We're going to go see the sunrise!"

"What time is it?" groans Kate.

"Time for the sun to rise! Just come to the Heart Attack Bridge of Doom whenever you can!"

From inside their room, I hear muffled swearing. "Fine," comes Felix's voice a minute later.

I have no idea whatsoever where any members of the Fellowship are staying, besides Merry and Pippin. So I start with them.

"Pip! Merry! Get up!"

"Wha?" asks a very groggy hobbit.

"We're going to all watch the sunrise!" I call back. They still don't sound convinced, so I add, "And then we'll all go to breakfast."

That gets them up. "Where are Sam and Frodo?" I ask.

"Just across the hall," replies the other one.

I practically fling myself across the hall to knock on their door and say, "Sam! Frodo! Come watch the sunrise with us!"

* * *

I somehow manage to get everyone-except for Boromir, he kind of freaks me out-up in time for the sun to rise. When it does, it does not disappoint. The streaks of gold, pink, and orange above the woods and waterfalls are simply breathtaking. Even Figwit and Arwen, who I'm sure have seen thousands of these sunrises before, draw in their breath, and while that could just be for my benefit, somehow I don't think so. I shoot a glance over at Figwit as we all turn our faces to the sun. He looks entranced by the simple beauty of it all. So am I.

When we leave the Bridge of Doom and troop back into Rivendell, Elrond is waiting for us. He shakes his head as he sees us walk past, Figwit and me in the lead.

"Duriel's idea, I presume?" he asks, then frowns. "Where are my daughter and Aragorn?"

I look behind me, then back at Elrond. "They seem to be busy," I reply, trying to keep a straight face.

He looks out onto the bridge, and rolls his eyes. "Excuse me," he says, and then walks out onto it himself. Felix and I share a look, and then we lead everyone back into Rivendell.

* * *

After lunch, Figwit, Felix, Kate and I take the leaves Figwit and I collected yesterday and scatter them around on the pavilion where the Council took place. We ask servants to bring in tables, and we scatter the leaves on the tables. I take one of the servants aside.

"Make sure that all the guests of Imladris, as well as Lady Arwen and Lord Elrond come here for dinner tonight," I tell him.

"It will be done, milady."

I turn back to my friends. "It's time for Thanksgiving."


	13. Let's not be conspicous now, shall we?

_November 24, 3018_

**(A/N: Partially inspired by a scene from the Extended Edition of aUJ (that movie does not abbreviate well).**

**Find the Taylor Swift reference for a (virtual) Duriel action figure!)**

I stand up in front of everyone, my legs shaking. "Um…ahem!" I call, trying to get their attention. It fails, so I reach down and tap my spoon on the side of my glass. I've never actually done that before, and it's kind of fun. The sharp sound gets their attention far better than my pathetic throat-clearing.

They're all staring at me, even Boromir. I didn't invite him to watch the sunrise with us, but there was no way I could get away with excluding him from Thanksgiving. It's a little disconcerting, even for normally fearless me. My gaze wanders over to the hobbits. They're all looking up at me, even serious Frodo.

"So…you're probably wondering why I invited you all here. Besides dinner that is," I say, keeping my stare locked on the hobbits, to keep me from falling over. I do not like looking at Boromir's sword right now. It's very wide, heavy, and pointy. "Well, where I come from…" here I falter, not wanting everyone in Rivendell to know I'm not from Arda. Figwit is literally the only one here that knows more than suspicions. "We have a holiday today. It's called Thanksgiving, and it's where we give thanks…for…stuff." Valar, I suck at speeches. "It's usually celebrated with one's family, but seeing as how we're all away from our families-" my eyes well with tears. It's been nearly two months since I've seen anyone from before, besides Felix and Kate. "I thought we could celebrate together," I finish in a choked voice.

I sit heavily back down. As I blink back tears, I feel Figwit's hand on my left arm. I reach over with my right hand and clasp it. He's startled, but he doesn't pull back. "Are you okay?" he whispers.

"Fine," I reply thickly. "Just fine." For a minute I just sit there, clinging onto his hand, trying so hard not to cry, unaware of what's going on around me.

Eventually, I tune back in to the world around me. What I see is either the funniest thing I've ever seen, or the scariest. Elves are scattered between the tables serving the usual Elvish food-bread, vegetables, soup. Somehow, Pip and Merry have gotten hold of the desserts before the meal was served. They're busy eating all the sugar they can get their hands on, and Arwen and Legolas are looking at them quite scathingly.

"Oh, God, get the dessert away from the hobbits," I say to Figwit, Felix, and Cait. Too late-while the servers have snatched the desserts away, Pip and Merry have already taken far more than their share. We're going to have to deal with a massive sugar high later.

"Let the feast begin!" says Felix.

_December 18, T.A. 3018_

I call a Council of Duriel a week before we're scheduled to leave Rivendell. Felix and Kate come, along with Pippin and Merry. Much as I want to hang out with Figwit all the time, he has actual work to do. Now that he's no longer required to guard me at all times, I rarely see him. I'm surprised to find myself more and more missing his company.

"As you guys all know, we're leaving Rivendell in a week's time. We've established at this point that while you three," I gesture at Felix, Kate, and Pip, "aren't part of the Fellowship, you're going to go anyway. My _mellon_ Lindir is going to be covering your departure so that Elrond doesn't find out for a while."

"How is he going to do that?" asks Merry.

"To be perfectly honest, I don't even know yet," I reply. At least as an Elf I don't blush anymore. "I'm leaving that up to him. I'm going to talk to him as soon as I can, but he is a high-ranking advisor to Lord Elrond."

"Which is why he's the perfect accomplice," Felix adds.

"Right."

"Pip's part of the plan is going to be easy," I forge ahead. "Elrond's sending him back to the Shire. Eventually, being, you know, a powerful Elven Lord, he's going to find out our deception somehow. However, I think if Pip doubles back soon after leaving Rivendell, we have a chance of fooling Elrond for at least a few hours.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't give us a lot of time to work with, especially considering that we have to get Felix and Kate out at the same time. Speaking of which, Kate, can you change your name to Catelyn?"

"Why?"

"It sounds more fantasy-like than a plain old Earth spelling."

"No way."

"Oh, fine, whatever. I think our best bet is to try to send Felix and Kate back to the 'Shire' with Pip. Then all four of them can come join us."

"Hey, Anna, can I talk to you for a second?" asks Felix.

"It's Duriel, and sure."

Felix and I walk out of the room. There he says, "Don't you think they'll try to leave us with Galadriel? There is no way we can sneak out of there."

"You will not be left behind in Lothlórien, I can assure you," I reply. "I will talk to Galadriel myself if necessary."

"How will you persuade her?"

"I'll tell her the truth," I say simply. I push open the door, dissuading further argument. "Now. We have a plan. Let's work on a timeframe so I can talk to Lindir."

_December 19, 3018_

"So that's what we're going to do." I finish telling Figwit as he raises an eyebrow.

"And what is my part in all of this to be?" he asks. "I know I have agreed to take part in a diversion, but I do not yet know what part I am to play."

"You're going to have to keep Elrond busy so no one notices Pippin, Felix, and Kate leaving Rivendell until it's too late," I reply, fingering a flower on one of the bushes in the garden we've stopped in.

"How am I to do this?" he asks.

"I haven't exactly decided that yet. You'll think of something."

"I do not know what to do," he replies. "Please help me to think of something."

We stand there, facing each other, for a few minutes, thinking. We're about a foot and a half apart, but it's the closest I've ever been to him.

"I have it!" he suddenly exclaims.

"What?" I ask. "What is it?"

"What if we…" he leans in to whisper in my ear, and I swear my heart stops. When he's told me his plan, I nod enthusiastically.

"That would be perfect," I reply, catching his eye and smiling. "Watermeldiron."

"I am honored by your approval…Teithagliriel." We share a smile, then he leaves, calling over his shoulder, "I must go, Lord Elrond calls."

I stand there for just a moment before following him back inside.

**(A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter, (a full hundred words short of my recurring goal of 1,300) but you know how it is. Also, Figwit and I had a moment! Woot!)**


	14. New names!

Thank you so much everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed this story! I just wanted to tell you all that I changed Anna's Elvish name to be more like real Elvish names. It's now Faelien Andeth Teithagliriel. I'll be updating the beginning slowly, but just keep it in mind as I go forward with the new name.


	15. Silent Night

_December 23, 3018_

When I wake up, there are two thoughts on my mind: Number one, it's two days until Christmas. Number two, it's two days until we leave Rivendell.

I jump out of bed and look out the window. The sun has just started to rise, streaking the sky with bands of blues, purples, and reds. It's a beautiful sight above the treetops and shining off the waterfalls.

The dress I pull on is silver to match the winter landscape. There's no snow, but a thick layer of frost. It's the kind of weather that makes one yearn for hot chocolate and a thick blanket. Unfortunately, there's no chocolate in Middle-Earth, a fact I discovered shortly after my arrival. I'm afraid the kitchen staff will never be quite the same again.

Flipping back my hair to braid, I notice how much longer it has grown. When I arrived in Middle Earth, it was about halfway down my back. Now it's all the way to my waist, but the ends haven't gotten scraggly. I guess that's the Elf part of me. The color hasn't changed much, however. It's still the same shade of golden-blonde it was in the summer back home.

I don't notice cold that much anymore. I still feel it, of course, more than an Elf, but it doesn't affect me nearly as much as it would as a human.

That's what I think of as I walk down the halls. I think about how much I've changed since becoming partially an Elf. I wonder if I'll keep the changes when and if I go back home. I love it here, but I still miss Earth so much. I'm not looking where I'm going when I bump into someone. Expecting it to be Figwit, I look up with a smile on my face.

It's not Figwit, but I'm close: it's Arwen. She's alone. "Lady Faelien," she says by way of greeting.

"Arwen," I reply far less formally.

We pass each other in the hallway, and I continue in the way I was going. I keep my eyes peeled for Figwit as I walk, but I can't find him anywhere.

Finally, after perhaps ten minutes of searching, I see him. "Lindir!" I call. He looks up.

"Andeth!" We don't use each other's chosen names in public.

"I have to talk to you," I say.

"In private?"

"It doesn't need to be, but we might be talking for a while. Do you have time?"

"For you, always." I smile at that.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"Nothing of importance."

"Why do I get the feeling that you are not being entirely truthful with me, watermelon?"

"I know not why." I mock-glare at him for a second, then smile.

"It matters not. Come, let us talk," I say, imitating his perfect ye olde-fashioned grammar.

We walk to the gardens, and sit on one of the intricately carved stone Benches. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Teithagliriel?" Figwit asks.

"Teithagliriel is kinda a mouthful. You can call me just Teitha or Gliriel if you wish."

"I will call you Teitha," replies Figwit. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Well…remember how Thanksgiving was slightly less than an utter disaster?"

His lips twitch at my honest description of what happened. "Yes," he replies cautiously.

"Well…I know we're leaving Imladris in two days, but two days from now is one of the most important holidays in my world. It's called Christmas. I would so like to celebrate it here."

A shadow crosses Figwit's face as I mention our leaving. "How would we celebrate it?"

"Well, in my world, we usually just give people close to us presents, but there's also usually a big feast the night before, and…"

My next words are cut off as he leaps up, taking my hand and pulling me up as well. "That sounds wonderful."

I sit in my room, thinking about what to give everyone. For Felix, Kate, Merry, and Pip, I'll probably just go down to the kitchens and bake something. But for Figwit…for Figwit I need something special. I think for a minute, then it hits me. The perfect gift. He will love it. I can't wait to give it to him. Now, I just need a pen and paper…

_December 24, 3018_

I pace back and forth nervously outside Elrond's council chamber. He's not using it tonight, so we're going to have our little Christmas party in there. I've already delivered to Pippin and Merry what I hope are delicious cookies. I didn't have time to make a test batch for myself, and I can't really remember the exact recipe from home. I think I'm close enough, though.

Felix and Kate also get cookies. I have them wrapped in fabric with me.

"Hey, Andeth," says Felix from behind me. They've gotten used to calling me Andeth, I've noticed. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," I reply. "What did you get me?" This is a running joke between me and Felix, asking what we got each other.

"Not telling," he replies. "What did you get me?"

I stick my tongue out at him. "What did you get me?" I ask, turning to Kate.

"Not telling you," she replies. "What did you get me?"

Just then, the door opens. Figwit, wearing a small smile, bows to me. "Happy Christmas, my lady," he says.

"Merry Christmas, Lindir," I reply, emphasizing the _Merry_, just so he knows.

He leads us into the room, where I see no tree, but a few evergreen boughs arranged in an enormous wreath. Beneath it is a small wrapped package. Felix, Kate, and I place our presents under it.

Food comes in on laden platters born by servants, along with a bottle of wine. Kate raises her eyebrow at this, but I know that here, it's customary even for children much younger than them. As we eat, we talk, and I learn a lot about Figwit. I know he learns about me, too.

When the plates are cleared, we move over to the small pile of presents. Figwit starts by bending over and removing his only package. He hands it to me.

"For you, Andeth."

I accept the package, gently unwrapping the lavender fabric and sky-blue ribbons. I gasp in shock at what's inside.

"Oh, mellon, it's beautiful, le hannon so much!" I cry. I gently lift up the necklace he gave me. It's silver, with swirling strands intertwined into the shape of a heart. The clasp isn't the kind I'm used to, so he places it around my neck. It hangs to just the perfect length, right below my collarbone.

I give Felix and Kate their cookies, and receive baked goods from them in return. By midnight, they're starting to tire, so they head back to their room.

I turn to Figwit. "This is my gift for you." I start to sing one of my favorite songs.

_"Sunlight comes creeping in_

_ Illuminates our skin_

_ We watch the days go by_

_ Stories of all we did_

_It made me think of you_

_ It made me think of you_

_Oh, lights go down_

_ In the moment we're lost and found_

_I just want to be by your side_

_ If these wings could fly_

_For the rest of our lives_

_I'm in a foreign state_

_ My thoughts they slip away_

_Because I thought of you_

_ Just from the thought of you_

_Oh, lights go down_

_ In the moment we're lost and found_

_I just want to be by your side_

_ If these wings could fly_

_Oh, damn these walls_

_ In the moment we're ten feet tall_

_I just want to be by your side_

_ If these wings could fly_

_For the rest of our lives."_

I open my eyes. "That was wonderful, Teithagliriel."

"I wanted to write a song just for you, but I couldn't. I'll write one while I'm gone, and I'll sing it for you when we get back. I promise."

"I'll be waiting." His words are playful, but his tone is far more serious.

We stand there for a while, until the sun starts to rise. Panic rises in me as I realize that I have to go, leave Rivendell, and possibly never come back. "Watermeldiron, I-"

Quickly, before I have time to think about it, I lean in and embrace him. He's frozen for a second before he hugs me back, whispering words in Elvish that I can't understand.

He doesn't offer translation, and I don't ask. After a while I pull away.

"Watermeldiron, I have to go. We're leaving Imladris…"

"Go," he commands. "Na lû e-govaned vîn."

"Goodbye," I say, before running out of the room, not looking back.


	16. Stumbled Through the Long Goodbye

We assemble early the next morning in the courtyard. Elrond gave me a new, larger bag to replace the little cloth sack. I've managed to fill it all the way up and still carry the cloth sack I carried before. I'm not wearing a dress, instead a green tunic with leather jacket, grey leggings, and suede boots. I've insisted on keeping Figwit's necklace, though. I will not part with it. On one side of the courtyard, the Fellowship is assembled. On the other, Pippin, Felix, and Kate, who are trying and failing to hide their excited smiles.

Elrond strides over to us. "The Ringbearer is setting out on a quest to Mount Doom," he begins, continuing his habit of stating the blindingly obvious in the most dramatic manner possible. "For those who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. You have the blessings of Elves, Men, and the Free Folk." Not one of us misses the fact that he left Dwarfs out of his count.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," says Gandalf reverently. Frodo walks forward.

They walk out of the courtyard. After a quick hug and wink for Kate and Pip, and a backward glance at Figwit, I go too. I catch the look Aragorn gives Arwen, and it nearly rips my heart out.

When I look back a second later, Felix, Kate, and Pippin have left in the opposite direction.

I hope that Figwit can keep Elrond distracted long enough that they can get out.

_December 31, 3018_

They don't mention it in the book or the movie, but going on a walking quest in December is cold. By the second day, I feel like I'm going to turn into a Popsicle if I have to spend another night sleeping on the cold ground. Another modern thing I will never again take for granted is sleeping bags…soft, downy sleeping bags.

Here we have bedrolls, which are basically just wool blankets spread on the ground. They're thin and get wet really easily when it snows or rains, or even just fogs, which is basically every night.

I have to get up in the middle of the night to take watch with Legolas. With him being an Elf, and me being partially one, we need the least sleep. With me being a "lady," all of them were quite averse to the idea of me basically doing anything. After a few days they got used to the fact that while I'm not a Mary Sue, I'm actually pretty capable of doing stuff for myself.

As we walk-we walk a lot more than the books or the movies ever showed-I stay at the back of the group and think. I promised Figwit I'd write him a song, and I try. I do try, very hard. _Cold road before me/Safe path behind…_

_Cold road before me_

_ Safe path behind_

_I go with your words_

_ In the back of my mind_

_With the night at my back_

_And the sun on my face_

_I walk into shadows_

_I've thought of you every day_

That's all I can think of right now.

Six days later, though, everything changes. It starts out innocently enough, with Legolas and I talking during our watch, like we always did. Just incidentally, the thing with Tauriel really was nothing; he is quick to tell me when I asked. After being slightly creeped out that I knew that about him (I wasn't going to tell him why), he explains that his father had read more into their relationship than there was.

Suddenly, however, he leaps to his feet, bow drawn and at the ready. "What is it?" I call. I have a suspicion I know, however…

Legolas creeps toward the source of the sound, and I'm again struck by how quietly and gracefully Elves move. A few minutes later, he comes back, as close to enraged as I've ever seen him, even in the movies. "Do you have anything to do with this, Andeth?" he asks, pushing, Felix, Kate, and Pippin forward into the clearing.

My gut reaction is to lie, but I know Elves are too perceptive to be fooled by a human lie. "Maybe?" I reply meekly.

"May I just ask why you thought it was a good idea to sneak three additional members along onto a secret quest?" he asks with one brow raised.

By this point, Aragorn and Gandalf are awake too, and they're both looking at me the same way Legolas is. Except that being an Elf, everything Legolas does is elegant. From Aragorn and Gandalf, the glare of death is nothing but scary.

"I..." I tell them. After all this, I break down and tell the three of them everything.

Not _everything_, of course. Not the everything I told Figwit, but more than what I told Elrond. I would have told them Figwit's everything, but I just didn't know them well enough for it. When I finish with "And so Pippin had to go. Because I don't know what would happen if he wasn't there to do what he would do."

"Why didn't you simply accept the changes as they came?" asks Aragorn.

"Because…" I take a deep breath. I'm not going to tell them what happens, of course. What can I tell them? "You will meet someone very wise, and she will tell you, and I quote, 'the Quest stands balanced on a knife blade. Stray but a little and it will fail.' I don't want to be what knocks it off balance."

Gandalf looks like he knows who I'm talking about. There are only so many wise females in this world, so I'm not really surprised.

"You know her exact words?" Legolas looks impressed.

"Yes, I do. That is one of the best lines ever. I always remember the best lines ever." Except for all the times I forgot the best lines ever. But saying so would diminish my point. And I don't want to do that.

_January 4, 3018_

Walking. Walking. Freezing. More walking. To all the girls who like to write self-insertion fanfictions, if I ever get back home, I must warn you to join the Fellowship after all this walking. And walking. And walking. The only two things that keep me sane are Legolas, who I have come to regard as a very dear friend, and writing Figwit's song. I've added a few more verses, but I'm still stuck on a chorus and ending. I sing as we walk.

_Cold road before me_

_Safe path behind_

_I go with your words_

_In the back of my mind_

_With the night at my back_

_And the sun on my face_

_I walk into shadows_

_I've thought of you every day_

_And it's the same stars_

_That shines on you and me_

_When I look up in the night_

_I hope that you see that too_

_I may not make it out alive_

_But your face and these words_

_Are always in the back of my mine_

_ Have you heard me calling for you?_

I sigh. I'm not getting anywhere with the song. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I walk faster to catch up to Legolas, who has decided to teach me how to use his bow. The archery instructor at Rivendell might have said it was a bad idea, but I honestly think I'm becoming more like an Elf the longer I spend in Arda.


	17. When Arrow met Boulder

I'm not even going to go into how much we walk. It's a lot, though, and you should be grateful for your cars and planes and buses. I've lost track of what day it is, but I think it's sometime in early January when we stop in a flatter part on the top of a mountain that I recognize from the movie. Boromir tries to teach Merry to fight with a sword, and after some argument about the usefulness of teaching one not invited on the Quest, with a lot of intervention by me, he finally relents and lets Pip spar too. Felix and Kate start talking to Sam and Frodo around the fire, so I wander off with Legolas.

"Can you teach me how to shoot now?" I ask, coming up behind him. He looks back over his shoulder at me.

"Yes, all right," he replies. "What do you already know?"

"Um…I know the basics," I reply hesitantly. "I've shot before, and I had a bit of instruction back in Imladris. I think I just need practice and coaching," I add. "The archery instructor didn't think I was well-suited for archery, but I was more human then than I am now."

"How does it work?" he asks. "Your being partially an Elf, I mean."

I sigh. "When I first arrived here, I was mostly human. The only Elvish traits I had acquired were the pointy ears." I reach up self-consciously and touch the tip of one. I smirk. "But now, my hair has grown out a _lot_, but the ends haven't gotten scraggly, and it's a more even color. I mean, I never dyed my hair or anything, but it was lighter on the top, just from the sun. Now, it's the same color all over.

"I've always been as pale as an Elf, but now, my skin is _perfect_, not just clear. I'm not sure, but I think I've grown, too, even though I'm older than you're supposed to be when you stop growing.

"When I came here, I was more human, but now I'm more like an Elf. I don't know why; I couldn't begin to guess. I'm hoping that I can talk to…" I trail off. I've almost mentioned that we were going to meet Galadriel, who I'm sure Legolas has at least _heard_ of.

He doesn't ask who I mean, and for that I am grateful. Instead, he merely nods and pulls out his bow. Handing it to me, he shrugs the quiver off his back. I accept the bow and quiver, careful not to touch his fingers as the weapon and quiver change hands. Swinging the quiver over my head, I promptly get the strap tangled in my hair. Blushing, I manage to make light of it, rolling my eyes and saying, "I haven't developed the Elvish grace yet." He smiles before helping me get it out of my hair. "Can you hold it?" I ask, handing it out. "That's another thing we should probably work on."

He nods, smiling slightly. I sigh again. I wish I had more words to give Figwit when I get back to him. It's not like I'd ever tell anyone, but I miss Figwit. I really do. I think that's one of the reasons I spend so much time with Legolas. He and Figwit are both Elves, and while they're nowhere near similar once you know them well, they both have that indescribable _Elvish_-ness about them, that quality that makes them clearly so much more than human. Not for the first time since even before I arrived in Arda, I wish I was an Elf too.

Legolas clears his throat, snapping me back to the present moment. "Faelien? Archery?" he asks gently.

"Yeah. Right," I reply, blinking back inexplicable tears. "Let's shoot. Oh, by the way," I tell him. "You can call me Andeth." I take his bow in my left hand, and, leaning toward him, remove a perfectly fletched arrow from the quiver he holds.

I take the arrow and place it on the string of the simply carved wooden bow. Trying to impress Legolas with my mad archery skillz, I draw the string back to my ear and exhale with my lips slightly parted, like Katniss.

My shot goes wild, far to the right, probably because I didn't give myself enough time to set up the shot and aim. "A little to the left next time, perhaps, Andeth?" asks Legolas, trying and failing to hide an amused smile.

"You laugh now," I mutter, "But when I get the hang of this, the Orcs will run in terror."

"I have no doubt they will," he replies. "But you may still want to aim more to the left."

Rolling my eyes, I walk over to where the arrow should have landed. "I can't find it!" I call back to Legolas, panicked. "Come help me look!"

He casually jogs over and starts looking for the arrow. Oh, right—Elves have super-vision.

"Legolas, what do your Elf eyes see?" I ask. I know I shouldn't, but I just couldn't resist.

"The arrow lies over there," he replies. "I'll go get it."

"Oh would you, Legless? That would be ever so grand."

Looking at me strangely, in a way I recognize from Figwit, he walks over to retrieve the lost arrow. When he returns, together we walk back to where he left the bow and quiver.

"Try it again," he urges. "This time, give yourself more time to aim before you release."

"Oh, that's likely to make a difference," I reply sarcastically. He raises an eyebrow. "Sarcasm," I reply to his unasked question.

"Ah. Yes. Sarcasm," he says.

I hold my hand out for another arrow, and he deposits one into my hand. I pull it back on to the string and wish I was shooting my brother's compound bow back home. Not that I don't appreciate Legolas's helping me with archery, these Elvish bows are _hard_ for a barely-trained part-human to use.

I draw the bow back, this time paying less attention to looking like Katniss and more attention to shooting straight. The hand pulling back the string brushes against my ear, and I pull the loaded bow up to my shoulder, taking my time to aim it correctly. I still do the little breath, then move a little to the left. "What am I aiming at?" I ask.

"What do you want to aim at—try that boulder there? Do you see the one I speak of?"

I give a small nod, and then readjust my aim toward the boulder. I slowly let the arrow fly, bringing the bow down as the arrow hurtles through the air to smack into the boulder, off center but not by much, then shatter and fly apart.

I look up sheepishly at Legolas, and am surprised to see the same look reflected on his face. "Maybe not solid rock next time," I suggest.

"That would probably be wise."

**Sorry for the late update. I've started two (TWO!) new multi-chapter fics that are taking up a lot of my time, an Aragorn/Arwen one called An Unwanted Adventure, and a Star Wars OC one called the Mystrider Saga.**

**I really hate to beg, but please review. It really, truly inspires me to write more, and to be honest, This Is Arda needs it. I've been in the middle of writing Chapter 33 for two weeks now. It will get finished, though, I promise. It's well over 30,000 words and I have all future scenes planned, and a few even written.  
**

**But a review would definitely give me incentive.  
**

**You know you want to.  
**


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